


The Eastern Wind Leaves With These Words

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, F/M, M/M, My Heart Is Broken, What I think should have happened maybe, but here we go anyways, ok definitely angst, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:25:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So His Last Vow left me sobbing, so I wanted to write what I wish had happened at the end.</p><p>------------------------</p><p>They stand facing each other on the run way, but does it really need saying?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first (well kinda, I deleted the last one) fic! Leave me some love, leave me some hate idc. Follow me on tumblr at mrs-winchesterwatson! I hope you like this!  
> P.S. WARNING FOR MAJOR SPOILERS FOR HIS LAST VOW.  
> P.P.S. This is a disclaimer.

"John, there's something I should say." They stood facing each other on the run way, almost alone by Sherlock's request. The breeze blew and rustled Sherlock's curls and John's graying blonde hair. Sherlock was going to miss that hair and the way John squinted, he decided to himself. He tried mustering the courage he was going to need to face this man and lay himself out bare for only John. Only John Watson could break Sherlock Holmes, something that Sherlock realized the moment he saw those bombs strapped to John's chest all those years, months, days, seconds ago. He was going to miss giving his life for this extraordinary man.  
"I've meant to say always, then never have," Sherlock continued. But thats just it isn't it? He's always said it. Does John really need it spelled out? Irene Adler knew, Moriarty knew, Magnussen knew, even John's own damn WIFE knows. John must know; bright, brilliant, not-boring, best friend John Watson MUST know. It doesn't need to be said, does it?  
No, it most definitely needs to be said.  
"Since its unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now." John sniffles, Sherlock's eyes sting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock sits alone in a lab at Bart's, shockingly blue eyes squinting down a microscope. The door knob wiggles and in walks Mike Stamford with a bloke Sherlock has never seen before. He's short, serious, bags under his eyes revealing his nighttime fears, and he leans heavily on his cane rather than sit down. Sherlock glances at him, and initially thinks he's unimportant, most people are. But with exchanged words, the use of a phone, and a wink at the door, John Watson becomes the single most important man in Sherlock Holmes' existence.  
Little did Sherlock know that this man would steal his heart and break it, when Sherlock didn't even believe he had a heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I love you, John Watson."  
The words come out a bit rushed, but Sherlock means every breath, every syllable, every click of his tongue to form the most extraordinary phrase to ever be spoken. Sherlock forces himself to stare at John for possibly the last time as John's features become unreadable. To watch as John's eyes turn red and filled with tears he almost never shows to anyone.  
"I realize that its a bit too late now," Sherlock says as John chokes out a strangled laugh and looks down at the ground, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Sherlock lets a tear escape, "I know its a bit too late, and you have Mary, and your daughter, and I'm leaving, and this is the worst timing ever, but I'm in-" Sherlock chokes and swallows, "I'm in love with you my dear Watson, in every sense of the word. And I never once believed it could be possible, but this wouldn't be the first time you've surprised me." Sherlock smiles and tastes salt, and looks at John who continues to look at the ground, who watches his tears fall like rain, who watches Sherlock jump from the building, who watches Sherlock's tomb stone, who watches, watches, watches.  
Sherlock stands and waits, waits for John to say anything, because he knows its coming.  
"Sherlock-" It comes out strangled, and John pauses and breathes deeply. Sherlock can feel other eyes watching them from afar. "Sherlock, I've waited," a breath. "I've waited years, YEARS to hear you say that. Thats all I would've needed Sherlock. Just that DAMN PHRASE, and I would've left behind everything. Everything. For you, Sherlock." John's confession is angry and broken, eyes bleeding with water and subtext.  
"I know." Sherlock gives a pathetic smile, and John drags him close and pulls him into a hug, clutching to the back of his great coat, feeling it for the last time. And for the first time and last time, Sherlock returns the hug around the smaller man's shoulders and presses a soft kiss to his hair. John releases him and steps back, putting on a soldier's facade. "And what about you? Only got room for Mary in that heart?" Sherlock asks, because he has to know, just this once before he goes. John looks at Mary and shakes his head, smiling. He looks at Sherlock then and gives a sad smile and says, "Does it really need saying? There was hardly room for her in the first place. Deduce my feelings then, you bloody detective." They smile at each other, and Sherlock nods knowingly as he steps back and walks to board the jet, leaving behind his heart on the asphalt on the run way, holding a woman and a child's hand.


	2. Chapter 2

John watched the plane fly away into the distance, farther, and farther, and farther away from him. Sherlock was leaving, and something about watching the plane shrink into the sky felt far more final than Sherlock's death had, now that he thought about it. Mary came and took his left hand into her right, and gave a gentle squeeze, a gesture that let John know she knew exactly what Sherlock had told John, and that she would still be right there with him. They continued to watch the plane depart, John's eyes burning from both tears and the image of Sherlock's mouth moving to form the password to the bomb chained to the walls around John's heart. It suddenly hit John exactly what happened in the past 3 minutes; Sherlock loved him, and John's chances of loving him back flew away along with the eastern wind. So if a tear or two escaped him, nobody mentioned it. They all knew anyways. What John didn't know, however, were many things. He didn't know that Sherlock was also hardly fighting against tears on that damned plane. He didn't know that his own wife's heart was also breaking, not without at least a small amount of resignation, at the realization that her husband stopped loving her the moment a certain waiter waltzed up to their dinner table. And what he most certainly didn't know was that every television in the country was viewing the face of the man John hated the most.

* * *

"Did you miss me?" Rang out across the country, the twisted voices filling the minds of everyone. The horror reached Mycroft Holmes' ears, as he brought his phone up to his cheek. "That's not possible," he said as he emerged from the slick black car still parked on the runway. Mycroft's voice brought John and Mary out if their stupors, and they turned to him as he looked at John with an emotion unknown to the man's face: panic. "That's simply not possible," said Mycroft. "What's happened?" Queried John, as he stepped away from his pregnant wife.

* * *

 

"Sir?" A voice asked Sherlock. Something in his tone of voice caused Sherlock to tear his eyes away from the window and look at the man, who was holding out a phone to him. "Its your brother," said the man. Sherlock reached out and took the phone from him and brought it up to his ear. "Mycroft," Sherlock greeted nicely, all of his usual spite gone. "Hello little brother," came through the phone, "how's the exile going?" Sherlock rolled his eyes; Mycroft could discus porn and it would sound like he was inviting you to tea. "I've only been gone four minutes," Sherlock blurted, not realizing that Mycroft would know that he was counting the minutes he had been away from John. "Well I certainly hope you've learned your lesson," quipped Mycroft, "as it turns out, you're needed." His voice had taken a tone of graveness, and Sherlock was suddenly concerned. "Oh, for God's sake, make up your mind," Sherlock remarked, but his voice grew quiet. "Who needs me this time," he said dismissively, but his mind was racing, _JohnJohnJohnJohn_. "England," spoke Mycroft as the twisted image of Moriarty played on his television screeen.

* * *

 

"But he's dead, I mean you told me he was dead, Moriarty," Mary questioned John as they continued to stand on the plane runway. There was something much too calm about Mary in this situation, almost like it was false disbelief, but John chose to dismiss it. His head was racing, he could've been making this up, could've been creating doubt in Mary where there shouldn't be any. But this was not the greatest concern he had at the moment, and he passively replied, "Absolutely, he blew his own brains out," to Mary who was looking at him expectantly. "So how can he be back?" Mary asked with false concern. His eyes were drawn to somewhere over her shoulder, just past her face; the plane was landing. Sherlock was coming back. "Well, if he is," John said, unable to tear his eyes away from the aircraft that held the one person who mattered most to him, "He better wrap up warm. There's an east wind coming." The plane touched down, and John's heart rate sped up faster and faster;  _Sherlock Sherlock_   ** _Sherlock_.**

* * *

Sherlock couldn't breathe; he was going back. Back to John. John who he had told only minutes ago that he loved. This was not the plan he had. His plan was to tell John he loved him and then never see him again, allowing him to keep living with Mary and their baby, but this- this was not in the agenda. He was going back to John who now knows he loves him; John who is married, John Watson who can not be with Sherlock Holmes.  _Oh, this is going to ~~end~~  start very bad,_ thought Sherlock. But he was distracted. The game was on and he needed to focus on his arch-nemesis, who was now very alive and kicking. The plane touched down, and he stood, trying to calm his racing heart and mind, trying desperately to grasp a piece of the emotionless consulting detective he once was. But all too soon, they were handing him his great coat, and he could see John standing in front of Mary,  _interesting, they aren't holding hands,_ and the plane door was opening. He was in London again after being gone for mear moments, and as soon as he stepped out onto the steps that descended to the asphalt, he made eye contact with John. He could practically hear his heart pounding and he wondered if anyone else could too. He realized how silly that was and he began to make his way over to the black car that was waiting for him, along with Mycroft. John fell into step with him, no questions asked, and the mear presence of the doctor next to Sherlock was enough to make his heart swell and his head spin. "Moriarty," John simply stated, to which Sherlock replied, "I know." Sherlock reached the car and opened the door as he got in, and John went to his respective car with Mary, but if their fingers  brushed more than once on the way to those destinations, nobody made it a point to point it out. The game was on, and Sherlock would be damned if John wasn't right there with him.

**Author's Note:**

> I will start work on a sequel once this gets 1000 hits!
> 
> UPDATE:  
> Obviously I'm past 1000 hits now, which means sequel!! I have to plan it out, and from what it looks like, this might end up being a multi-chapter work! Because John can't just cast aside Mary automatically, so I will have the new chapter as soon as I can :)   
> Thanks for reading!


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